I think the person who takes a job in order to live - that is to say, for the money - has turned himself into a slave.

                                                                                            -Joseph Campbell

If the Shoe Fits & Shit

Still Summer 2010

                              

Okay, so I use to hate going to work because of the VP of Advertising, now I hate to go to work because of a 4-year-old. Yes my friends….times are tough and as my friend Kitty would say, “Be lucky we have ‘em my Betty.” What she is referring to is some sort of income and I whole-heartedly agree, but I question when is it okay to say UNCLE? I mean how much longer does this insanity have to go on??????

I was as the new PC terms says “let go” because of financial restructuring and that may just be so, but the real truth of the manner was I was at the top of that list because I didn’t kiss ass, mainly the ass of a-she-wish-she-was-devil-wearing-Prada nasty dirty blond. And now I’m kissing the ass of a-wish-she-wasn’t-wearing-carters-recently potty -trained fair-haired blond. Seems my old Ferragamo pump wearing boss and my new Stride Rite Mary Jane wearing boss could be one and the same.

Back to that dirty-blond Cruella Deville old boss, who had one lazy wandering eye, that seemed to be more centered in the middle of her caved-in forehead reminding me of Cyclops. This one-eyed monster gave me no guidance, no direction and seemed to possess not a trace of compassion; she just left me out there with her pack of wolves (who I will kindly refer to as Fatty and The Fetus) to fend for myself without a GPS in sight……but I digress and…..

sometimes we lose our course for a reason, to find a new path, and surrender over to a higher power. Of course this was the best thing that could have happened to me, but it’s hard to swallow when you have a mortgage, hounds, bills and chardonnay to pay.

Truth be told, “Corporate America” was slowly sucking the life out of me and gnawing away at my spirit. Not to mention the “secretarial spread” that was occurring around my thighs and mid-section from too many company lunches and spending time around the water cooler with co-workers (not Fatty and The Fetus of course….we hate them!) complaining about everything while stuffing any and every possible sugar coated snack that was floating around the kitchen into my mouth…..again I digress…..back to nannyland.

If only I had a time machine I would see where these two “bosses” were separated at birth. I suddenly hear my fathers voice in my head, as I’ve done a million times over and over…. “The issue will continue to present itself to you until you deal with it” and “You can pack your bags, but where ever you go, you take yourself with you.” Did I not deal with the first bitch properly and now it’s coming to bite me in the ass, by a precious pre-schooler? And I mean literally bite, as I’ve had to surgically remove her teeth from my flesh many-a-time.

To protect the innocent and lets face it folks, that would be me, we will give this child a sudo name…..what was the name of the little girl in THE BAD SEED? Let me Google it….Rhoda was her name. Times being what they are and the gargantuan amount of resumes flooding the market, a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do. With no job opportunities in my field (and were still not sure exactly what that is) or in sight for that matter and my savings account slowly empting out. I changed course and looked at who was hiring in this quant New England town and there seemed to be an influx of jobs in the childcare category. I was working part time in a daycare center so I thought hey this will be a piece of cake. I mean what a great escape from the bores of office politics, not having to one-up your co-workers with your wardrobe changes, not being sucked into the vortex of a teeny-tiny cubical and pretty much being on your own schedule. I mean what a great way to spend your day using your imagination, drawing, playing and daydreaming away your day, reliving your childhood or recreating yours as in my case, if you didn’t like the way things panned out. I MEAN how difficult or challenging could it possibly be?????? Boy oh Boy…..was I wrong.

Summer 2010 #9

“Indeed, man wishes to be happy even when he so lives as to make happiness impossible.” – St. Augustine

One step forward and twelve steps back. A year has passed since I started this discovery; this blog and I find myself not much further along on the yellow brick road. Baby steps are one thing, but I can’t even muster up that. What am I doing…. ant steps? I’m disgusted with myself, depressed and disillusioned. I ask myself for the millionth time…..if not now…..when??????

My question to the universe is can a 40-something-year-old- Betty return to the city of her youth where possibilities were boundless and the future seemed more than bright?

Can she pick up metaphorically where she left off and re-puzzle her life back together? Is it true that it is never to late to find substance, happiness, love and a career that one is passionate about or should she just continue along the lines of “What will be, will be.”?

What happens if you don’t reach out and grab your life by the cojones? Is it something you question or regret while your sitting on the rocker in the old folks home staring out into space wiping the droll with the sleeve of your synthetic robe? Once one hits the big 40, senility seems a wink away. You wonder who will come visit you in the “home” and will you even remember them if they do? You slap your hand dramatically on the side of your head as you think about who will change your diaper while you scream out loud with captions floating above your head mimicking “I FORGOT TO HAVE CHILDREN.”  As the evening hours approach you become crankier and nervous and no amount of chardonnay will prevent the fear of a wild case of sundowners, where old folks are afraid to go to bed because they fear they won’t wake up in the morning.

As a child I had a mild case of such an illness and I remember laying awake until what seemed like all hours of the morning staring at the Little Bo Peep framed picture on the wall across from my bed, that my mother made out of felt and the same material as my homemade bedspread and curtains, white with pink raised Pokka dots.  I remember being afraid to go to bed fearing that I would die in my sleep and the only thing I could think of doing was saying my prayers over and over in my head….

                       “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the lord my soul to keep.

                       If I dye before I wake. I pray the lord my soul to take.”

Who in the hell thought those were proper words for a child to say before hunkering down for a long winters nap? Die, Soul, Awake! No wonder I’m so tired now as I didn’t sleep much from the age of 5 on. I remember walking to elementary school in a brume do to lack of sleep and looking back now if there was a god forbidden Starbuck’s in the area, I’d be bellying up to the cash register for a double shot of espresso and steamed milk in my sippy cup.

Year’s later sleep is still stolen from me as if a band of bandits dynamite blast through my bedroom, jumped on my bed, threw back the covers and bitch slap me into consciousness, robbing me from drifting off deeply into a sweet state of slumber and perhaps a chance to dream.

Which explains my days were filled daydream believing and my concentration level has been null ever since.

Now I no longer stare into the pitch darkness of the eyes of Little Bo Peep, but instead into the deep dark black abyss that I have reciped for myself. I know it’s all of my own creating. I purchased the ingredients, I stirred and boiled the goods, but I still feel fear when I see my own eyes looking back at me through the blackness. I wonder how I got here…..things were not suppose to go this way, but then life happened or I stopped letting it happen. Somewhere alone the way I lost the battle and surrendered. The days and nights seem to roll into one huge swelling wave of nothingness and I wonder if indeed, I truly exist. My beloved companion, Knox licks my face as if to say

“SNAP THE HELL OUT OF IT LADY, I’M GETTING SICK AND TIRED OF THIS NORMA DESMOND ROUTINEE.”

“Me too pal,”  I say out loud as I scratch him behind his ears and think how nice it would be to have someone scratch me in those hard to reach on your own places.

I look at Knox and though he is the pure color of ebony, except for the occasional white hairs that display the passage of time (and on me as well) there is nothing lacking hue and

brightness about him, nothing gloomy, threatening or abysmal about this magical pup who has transformed my life, he is the polar opposite of my current character. He gets me to my feet and nudges me out the door. Summer is in full swing and the late morning light is blinding. I stand on the stoop of my suburban concrete condo and try to let my eyes adjust. Within seconds Knox is off and running, going door-to-door greeting his favorite neighbors hoping for treats, peeing on flowers and chasing squirrels.  It’s as if he’s saying hello world! Good morning! I’m here, I exist, deal with it!!!!!!! I want to take his cue, but I’m just not feeling very neighborly today or most days for that matter, perhaps tomorrow and I retreat back into my cave.

“Change starts when someone sees the next step.” – William Drayton

Murk

Winter – Spring 2010

Winter comes and I go into hibernation. I sleep most of the day and am up most of the night; the only time I feel at some sort of peace is in total darkness. The cold and bleakness only heightens my inherent genetic predisposition to depression. I stuff macaroni and cheese into my gullet at every turn. I take Knox for long walks in the middle of the night and the only lights leading the way is attached to his collar and the blinking light of the lighthouse out at sea. The world is silent and still.  The days, weeks, and holidays all mix into one big thick blob as I try to make my way through.

Day In and Day Out seems to be an endless repeat of a Chekhovian play or a bad sitcom re-run that was never funny. A job is just a job. I take care of other people’s children, I’m grateful to have it, but wonderwhy these people do not want to be a part of the daily care of their children. Soon all is revealed to me. It’s become pitch black at 4 o’clock and I feel the darkness engulf me in a sea of sadness and melancholy. I see shrinks, I take meds, I increase my vitimin D. I’m in bed a lot, but feel like I never truly sleep, that I am never well rested. Sweat pants have become my daily uniform, not by choice; it’s as if some part of me has left the building, given up, folded my hand.

Then spring comes and the deep thaw begins. The vice grip on my chest begins to loosen and the haze in my head seems to lift, but my vision is still somewhat cloudy. The additional dose of daylight gives me pause for relief that is indeed letting me know that help is on the way. I begin to sleep less and brave the daylight hours. This misery has gone on far too long and it’s time to snap the hell out of it. I set my alarm, I awake and splash cold water on my face and begin to feel less dead. I try to throw out negative thoughts that attack my mind: “You’re no good.” “You’ll never amount to anything.” “You don’t deserve happiness,” “You haven’t suffered enough,” “You’re old,” “You’re not worthy” and “Just do us all a gigantic favor and go back to bed.” When this occurs I adjust the compass in my head to slightly alter the course and journey out into new waters.

 I return to yoga, think about giving up red meat, and spend more time with Knox out in nature. After a long winter’s nap trapped inside my cave, the brisk air on my face slowly breathes new life into me. I feel an ever-so-slight change as I rebuild the molecules in my body; trying to make myself stronger, better, faster. There is something magical and mysterious that each season brings and life is mirroring those images to me. Seasons change and no matter what (except for the fear of global warming) we know that eventually winter will turn to spring and spring will become summer and there is some sort of security in knowing what will come. We don’t know how cold the temperature will drop or how much damage it may cause to crops, but we do know that it will be colder than the preceding season and the cycle of the life of the seasons will carry on. I keep hearing over and over in shouts inside my head that this too shall pass and I’m thinking this storm in my life will pass, and perhaps soon, I will see the forest through the trees, but I know I have to get out of my way first.

Perhaps it’s as simple as just enjoying your current view or looking in another direction or at another angle for some new perspective….of course, Knox already knows this.